Sing
by Azarr
Summary: Let the monsters see you smile; let them see you smiling. Matt and L.


Pay attention to the below, because it's the only time I'll be saying most of it:

**Rating**: NC-17

**Warnings**: In no specific order: cussing; yaoi and het pairings; shouta; references to self-harm; references to suicide (it's not what you think, I assure you); completely inaccurate descriptions of scenery, traditions, and such in both Japan and England (Give me a break xD I live in Australia, and I've only been to England and Japan twice); probably some OOC-ness, but I'll try to keep that to a minimum; references to several disorders (really, I _promise_ it's not what you're thinking); and a myriad of illegal actions including but not limited to robbery, armed robbery, possession of an illegal weapon, assault, grievous bodily harm, homicide, substance abuse, and... well, for the moment, that's it.

**Spoilers**: You know... maybe, like, the _whole series_? Don't read this unless you've finished the series, know the general gist of it, or don't care about spoilers, folks. It's as simple as that.

---

**Disclaimer**:I don't own Death Note or the assorted quotes that will appear throughout this FanFiction. This is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, or any other copyright holder.

**Rating for This Chapter**: T? I'm not sure how the rating system works :S

**Warnings for This Chapter**: Language; really, really stupid humour; L and Roger being depressing assholes; and lame ambiguity.

**AN**: This is something random I typed up. I know where I'm going with this and I like it. It's pretty original, as far as I can tell. This pairing has next to no fans  Poo. Chapters should be much, much longer, after this.

LxMatt, kids  Gimme feedback.

-----

_Sing_

By Azar-Apocalypse

---

Prologue

-----

"I expect you know why you're here," he says. The stern lines on his face mirror the harsh angles of the room. I realise distantly that he's built up something of a sanctuary for himself, here.

I gesture toward one of the frames on the walls and comment, "An Uncompahgre Fritillary. That must've cost you an arm and a leg, at least."

He nods, his impatience quelled, for the moment, with pride. "Yes _- boloria acrocnema_," he boasts. "It's one of my favourites..."

"Hm," I hum contemplatively. "The _ornithoptera euphorion_ is probably mine." Almost immediately, I spot one on the wall; and it saddens me to notice that there's only one specimen.

For a moment, we both glance at the frames; gaze at the pinned insects and consider them, before he flippantly waves a hand and says, "But that's neither here nor there." My stomach clenches a little at his reproachful expression. "There's no use in trying to distract me."

"It was worth a shot," I mutter disappointedly. With a bored groan, I straighten up some and try to tackle this head-on. "It's probably nothing, you know."

His eyes are focussed on something past me; something that I strongly suspect is the _papilio xuthus_ displayed behind my head. "He just won't _socialise_," he sighs. "We've tried everything - bribing, coercion, Group-"

I frown. "I hardly think he's _depressed_." I sincerely doubt that he's anything at all; he could just be a blank slate.

He shrugs and steeples his fingers, gazing at me over the rim of his glasses. "That doesn't change the fact that he won't integrate himself into the children's... society, of sorts. It's not healthy. It needs to stop."

"And this is where I come in?" I ask, remarkably confused for one so intelligent. I don't see that this is my problem; I don't see that I should have to deal with it. Maybe he's going senile in his old age. Perhaps I should ask Watari to look into hiring a new manager.

He heaves another sigh, sounding weary and old, and says, "You understand that I wouldn't be asking this of you if it wasn't important."

I roll my eyes. "If you hadn't deemed it important, you mean."

He absentmindedly fidgets with the corner of one of the papers strewn across his desk but doesn't look away from my face. "_L_," he says very seriously.

Oh, he's trying to stare me down. How quaint.

"_Roger_," I drawl obnoxiously.

He abruptly leans forward and, for a moment, I think he's going to actually _hit_ me and I'm too stunned to move away; but then he rests his face in his outstretched hands and I'm struck with the sudden realisation that this man is by no means stupid; that he's not just another person. I've trusted him to care for my successors for a long time - and even myself, before that.

I chew on my thumb uneasily. "Do you really think it's that bad?" I hesitantly ask, still entirely unconvinced but willing, for the moment, to humour him.

His hair is thinning and white. It lies oddly on his head, as if he constantly runs his fingers through it.

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't," he says gravely, his voice muffled by his hands. "I don't know what to do anymore. He told me, last week, that he's only been driven to come this far because he has nothing else to do."

My reply hangs in the air, unsaid but not indefinite to anyone.

He straightens up and rubs his temples; removes his glasses and reaches for the clear bottle at the side of his desk. "Even competition isn't enough," he adds.

I watch as he pours himself a glass of whatever poisonous concoction he thinks will help him forget, today. Whiskey, I consider vaguely. "Shit."

He runs his finger across the rim of his glass and agrees, "Yes, I thought so, too."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

He's drinking, now. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows; watch the wrinkles in his neck contort and stretch; watch his dry skin pull tight across his throat. At his age, I'm surprised he's still drinking; that he's still capable of knocking back a glass without needing a nap afterward. But I don't say that. I don't say anything.

It's a few moments before he replies. The drink must burn his throat after so many years, because he cringes as he swallows it down. "He doesn't need a tutor," he says. "God knows, he has enough of those already, and he's smarter than all of them." I nod and he echoes my thoughts: "His mind... it's absolutely remarkable. The only one who stands a chance of keeping up with him is Near, and even then... Well, there's still a clear divide between their abilities."

It's inevitable, then. But I ask, anyway, just to be sure, "And Mello couldn't do anything because...?" I already know the answer, of course, but there's no harm in hearing it again.

Unexpectedly, he chokes on his mouthful and I stand up to help him; turn toward the door to get Watari, because he might just be dying, but then I hear him laughing, his voice rough. "I meant it when I said that this is a last resort. I've already asked Mello, but it only made the situation worse."

Of course. I'm not even surprised.

I sigh once more and begin reasonably, "If he doesn't want to be L-"

He places the glass down on his desk a bit too forcefully and his fingers clench around it; curl into the glass until his knuckles are white. "Then he has no place here," he finishes, sounding surprisingly frustrated. "He still thinks that this is a- a _game_; that he can get away from this all Scott-free. He doesn't realise how much talent he's wasting. Do you realise, L?"

From my pocket, I produce his first test paper. "Of course I do." I eye his drink sharply and remark, "Do _you_?" His gaze doesn't waver and I go on, "His marks dropped dramatically when he first began to consort with Mello. I realise this. With all due respect, Roger, if he wants to pride himself more on his friendships than his grades, let him. He might realise what he's giving up later; and he might find that he doesn't regret it at all. In that situation, all we can do is tell him that we warned him and support him when he realises the severity of his mistake. I can't _force_ him to want my position, and neither can you."

"No," he murmurs, "I suppose not." He takes another long sip from his glass and asks, his voice breaking on the very edge of desperation, "But you will try, won't you?"

I never realised it before, but I must be asking a lot of him; even at his age, he doesn't have a family of his own.

I swallow, suddenly awkward, and mumble, "If you're sure it's necessary."

He smiles; and I'm in equal parts horrified and ashamed. "I'm glad, then," he says. "Thank you, L."

Distinctly uncomfortable at his clear joy, I stand up and suggest, "A holiday would do you good. I'll pay, of course, if you-"

But he shakes his head, looking almost appalled at the idea; says, "That's very generous, but I'm fine here," and it hurts me to realise that this is all he has left; this office and his insects and children who aren't his.

"Well, I'll be going," I murmur, my mouth dry. I pause at the threshold of the door and add, "You're welcome to have tea with Watari and I, sometime, if you like, Roger... If you change your mind about the holiday, let me know."

He's still smiling when I turn away and leave; and a weird sort of weight settles in my chest, making me feel quite ill.

"I'll keep it in mind," he says as I shut the door behind me.

I walk through the hallways in a sort of daze, unwilling to contemplate what I've dedicated myself to; just how much weight I'm going to have in this child's life very shortly. I've never been so closely involved in any of the children's lives before, but, I think tiredly, I really can't take back my word now.

As soon as I'm in the kitchen, Watari serves me a tea and asks mildly, "It didn't go well, then?" He sets a dish of crème caramel down in front of me and gestures for me to take a seat; and though I've never felt less hungry in my life, I sit down, grasp at my spoon, and gingerly eat a small bite of the dessert.

I thickly swallow it down and sigh, "That obvious?"

He sits down beside me. "Only, perhaps, to me." A beat, and then: "You don't have to do this. I'm sure there's someone else-"

"No," I interject sharply. "I'll do it. I said I would, didn't I?" I'm not a coward; moreover, I'm no hypocrite.

He nods; then nods again, still not quite grasping my involvement on any level. "Of course. I just wondered- Of course. It's settled, then."

"Yes," I confirm. We sit in silence until the clock strikes twelve noon and I decide that it's high time for me to leave. He doesn't stop me and I reluctantly realise that I've no idea how to start this; or where to go once I figure out how to get the proverbial ball rolling; or how to even maintain the rolling of the proverbial ball.

"He likes games," Watari calls after me, sounding amused.

I nod in way of thanks and change course for one of the recreation rooms.

Well, this certainly will be interesting.

-----

I've listed quite a few species of butterflies in this. I quite like them - they're very pretty.

'Group' refers to 'group therapy'. Come on, now - you can't possibly think that an institution like Wammy's has no way of dealing with kids who aren't handling the pressure well. Group struck me as the easiest solution.

Roger always makes me sad 


End file.
